


Dragon-Rider

by irritating_spontaniety



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritating_spontaniety/pseuds/irritating_spontaniety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Smaug is bored and Bilbo is a welcome curiosity.</p><p>AKA What if they became friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon-Rider

Gold enough to fill a mountain, precious gems enough to make the night sky envious. And it was his, all his, taken with wrath and fire so many years ago. The tales are all true- dragons covet gold above all else. How strange it was then, with all his treasure, that Smaug should find himself...bored.

 

At first, both his victory and spoils had been sweet. At the sight of dwarves fleeing from the the mountain to the sound of men shrieking in Dale, a fierce sense of pride and excitement had flared in his belly. “Inferno from the North,” some called him, and he relished the name. In the dwarven-king’s trove he dove in his plunder like a pup in a pile of leaves. The gleam of gold, the sparkle of sapphires, the deep red glow of rubies- it had all been so delightful, so enticing. What changed?

 

Was it a light coating of dust that dulled their luster? Or was it the stale air that dimmed his senses? Smaug didn’t know. So he buried himself in once-thought splendour and slept.

 

****

 

Bilbo was amazed by the dwarves’ lack of foresight. Moreover, he was amazed at himself.

 

 _Get to the Lonely Mountain!_ He thought, _Then what? We’ve been so focused on our destination that we’ve neglected the dragon! And you, Bilbo Baggins, you have to deal with it!_

 

The only dragon he’d ever met was the one carved on the sign of the Green Dragon. He’d never seen a real one. Of course not. Only heard tell and sing of them. He imagined something like a lizard, like those that basked on the rocks in his garden, only bigger and winged, capable of breathing fire hot enough to level a cornfield. He shivered. Standing in the tunnels of Erebor, he thought, _I should be perfectly happy with never meeting one._

 

Bilbo berated himself a moment more for ever stepping out of the Shire. But he was already here, and had a job to do, so he slipped on the ring, scurried through the tunnel, and crept into the dungeon hall. He felt his jaw drop.

 

It wasn’t that Bilbo didn’t believe Thorin when he spoke of the immense wealth of his grandfather. It was only that to a hobbit whose entire life had been in Bag End, such wealth was hard to imagine. So when he finally laid eyes on that fabled treasure-hoard, the hobbit’s mind numbed with shock. It was a vast hill of gold, both wrought and unwrought, scattered with silver and various jewels that he could not name. But what caught his attention was the sleeping creature amidst it. Whatever fancies he had of dragons paled in comparison to the real thing. Sprawled out in slumber, even half covered in gold, the dragon was enormous. It was red and yellow, with precious trinkets caught on its scales, and the air around it shimmered with heat. It’s chest glowed like a forge with each breath, casting a dull red light on the riches beneath it.

 

All his fears and trepidations were forgotten as Bilbo marvelled at the sight before him. _King under the Mountain, indeed!_

 

****

 

In shallow sleep Smaug felt a shift in the air. A draft? He’d been meaning to cover that hole up for a while now- at least a hundred years. Well, it could wait a hundred years more. He let his awareness dim again.

 

_Clink!_

 

That was no draft! Eyes shut, he listened carefully. Somewhere, something was disturbing gold that had not been touched in decades. And that pattern of noises sounded like...

 

_Clink! Plink! Clink!_

Footsteps! Thief!

 

Smaug’s eyes flew open, and he let out a bellow of rage. _How dare they!_ Never since conquering the Mountain had such a thing happened. He turned his head to and fro and saw nothing. Strange. Heat built in his belly and he was tempted to char the place and smoke the thief out, but thought better of it. _Let me play with this invisible burglar first, find him, make him spill his secrets, and then make him pay._ Plus, it had such a curious scent…

 

“Well, _thief!_ ” He rose slowly from his hoard, gold cascading from his limbs. He saw movement in the corner of his eye and bore down on it. “I smell you and feel your air. I hear your breath!”

 

He heard said breath quicken and shallow.

 

“Come along! Help yourself, there is plenty to spare!”

 

“No thank you, O Smaug the Tremendous!” A timid voice replied from somewhere in front of him, “I did not come for presents. I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them.”

 

 _Oh?_ “Do you now?”

 

“Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities,” the voice said.

 

“You have nice manners for a thief,” said Smaug, feeling flattered despite himself. “You seem familiar with my name, but I don’t seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”

 

“You may indeed!” The voice seemed to be edging away, and the dragon saw the gold shift slightly before him. His fiery eyes sought the owner of the voice. “I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. And through the air. I am he who walks unseen.”

 

So the thief was fond of riddles! Smaug was delighted. Dragons are fascinated with riddling talk, and he had not felt curiosity like this in ages.

 

He stretched his stiff limbs and said, “so I can well believe, but that is hardly your usual name.” He would coax it out of him yet!

 

****

 

Bilbo was beginning to enjoy his game of riddles. The dragon seemed intrigued and still unsure of his whereabouts, so he continued:

 

“I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly.”

 

“Lovely titles,” said the dragon.

 

“I am the friend of bears and guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider,” Bilbo said, feeling rather pleased with himself.

 

At this, Smaug exclaimed, “Barrel-rider! Well, Mr Barrel-rider, Ringwinner, Mr Under-hill and Over-hill, so the Lake-men are behind this thievery! How much did they promise you to retrieve their silver and gold?” He had not lived so close to Lake-town for so many years without knowing their methods of trade.

 

Bilbo felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t meant to give away so much.

 

“Lake-men? No, no, I’m afraid you’re mistaken, O Smaug the Mighty! I am no burglar for hire. Merely a traveller who has come by wave and wind to see you in all your magnificence. I desire neither gold nor glory.” By now the hobbit had grown frightened, and fervently wished to leave. Praying for luck he made a mad dash for the tunnels. But, alas, it seemed luck was not with him. The dragon saw the gold scatter and slide beneath his feet, and with a mighty swing of his tail Smaug sent coins flying and Bilbo tumbling down the dragon-hoard. Our poor hobbit landed with a winded cry far from the mouth of the tunnel.

 

The dragon’s mood was dark and impatient, but his curiosity was not yet satiated. “Your words ring false, Barrel-rider! If you protest, then tell me, what is it that you desire if not gold. I can think of nothing else worth having,” he said, and those burning eyes settled on where Bilbo now sat, invisible, and unable to look away.

 

One experienced with dragons would know not to gaze into a dragon’s eyes for long. Some magic in them compels their admirers toward honesty. Mr. Baggins, however, was very much unexperienced with dragons. Bilbo felt himself unravelling under the dragon’s spell. He shook and trembled and found truths spilling from his lips, “O Smaug, you are terrible and wise, but not all treasure is silver and gold! Where I come from we cherish good tilled earth and fresh greenery and a hearty meal over finely wrought metals.”

 

“Pah,” sneered Smaug, and sparks danced on his tongue, “those are the simple desires of simple people. Hardly worth my attention.”

 

“And of late I’ve found value in honor and courage,” Bilbo tried again, “courage to fight and courage to stay your blade, or in your case, flames. With the two often comes earnest love and admiration. Surely that is something?”

 

Smaug prowled around him and considered this for a moment. “You say many strange things. You who have travelled far and walks unseen. I grow weary of your lies. Reveal yourself to me.”

 

Now with no hope of escaping to the tunnels, and compelled by the dragon’s command, Bilbo slipped off the ring.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, a Baggins of Bag End, at your service and at your mercy.”

 

At the sight of him, Smaug the Tremendous and Unassessably Wealthy roared with laughter.

 

****

 

A halfling! Smaller than a dwarf! This tiny creature who had dared sneak into his mountain, and had spun lies and riddles and flattering words, was now introducing himself with such audacity. Amidst his chortles Smaug decided he wasn’t going to kill the hobbit. It had brought him such entertainment after all. Surely a king of his own stature could spare a little generosity, but first he was going to have a little fun.

 

“Little hobbit, I’ll make you a deal. One last riddle, and if I cannot answer then you go free. If I do, then here you’ll stay till I no longer will it.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he nodded. Pacing atop burnished gold he thought furiously, and seemed to struggle a while, then he looked up at Smaug with an odd look in his eye, and at last recited:

 

_As destructive as life,_

_As healing as death;_

_An institutioner of strife,_

_Just as prone to bless._

_It is all that is good,_

_Yet with an evil trend;_

_As it was the beginning of things,_

_It can also be the end._

_What am I?_

****

 

The sun was down by the time Bilbo scampered back to Thorin and company. They had been sitting around the entrance of the tunnel and rose when they saw him approach.

 

"Master Baggins!” came the welcoming cries.

 

“Have you found it?”

 

“Where’s the dragon?”

 

“Did you see it?”

 

“And the gold?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Mr Baggins, do get on with your tale!"

 

Thorin held up a hand to silence the others, allowing Bilbo catch his breath.

 

“Yes. Dragon,” he managed. “Huge! In the dungeon hall.” Bilbo sank to the ground. Now that the adrenaline had left his system he was feeling rather shaky. He proceeded to tell them of all that had happened, starting with when he first laid eyes on Smaug; the sight of the dragon, giant, on top that hill of gold, his awe, and his fear when it awoke. Then of his riddles, his attempted escape, Smaug’s laughter, and their final game of wit. “If I’d been any less amusing I fear I would not be here!”

 

“What did you ask it?” inquired Kili.

 

“What?”

 

“The riddle.”

 

“Oh.” So Bilbo told them.

 

They were quiet for a while.

 

“Fire?” at last said Balin. Bilbo nodded. “I’m not surprised the old worm didn’t get it then.”

 

“No matter,” Thorin spoke, "the dragon remains a problem. How should it be dealt with? Did you spot any weakness in its armor?”

 

"Er..." Bilbo started. Had he? He’d been distracted by the mere presence of the dragon, and had been rather busy trying not to die. “No...no, I don’t believe so. I only learned of his vanity and love for riddles.”

 

“So you’ve returned empty handed. We cannot flatter a dragon to death.”

 

With the dragon still alive in Erebor, they climbed down to the foot of the mountain to make camp. On the way, the dwarves bickered among themselves about dragon-slaying strategies. Stick it in its gut while it’s asleep! One said. Lure it into the lake, said another, I’ve heard you can put out a dragon in water! It was a mixture of myth and nonsense, and each idea was quickly dismissed. Meanwhile, Bilbo was feeling rather downcast about the whole ordeal. He hadn’t taken back any of their gold (though it was a near impossible feat, anyway) and he had failed to bring them a tactical advantage. He couldn’t even participate in their talks of strategy (however nonsensical it was). _Perhaps it is as I told Gandalf_ , thought Bilbo, _I’m not cut out for adventures._ As the dwarves continued to speak of Smaug and now of the great treasure hoard itself (giant, cut rubies! Silver-plated armor! Thror’s great golden chalice! The Arkenstone!) the night grew dark and chilled. Bilbo drew his arms around himself.

 

“What’s wrong, Mr Baggins? You are very gloomy.”

 

Bilbo looked up to see Thorin looking down at him with concern. “It’s nothing. Just a little cold is all.”

 

The smile Thorin gave him was sympathetic, but Bilbo thought it was a little patronizing. Thorin called to the others, “Come now. Let’s not dither in the dark. Make a fire and rest. We shall discuss this matter again at daybreak.”

 

****

 

In the halls of Erebor Smaug rooted through treasure like a boar in search for truffles. He was terribly bored again. He had tried generosity and decided he didn’t like it. It was only a few hours since he let the hobbit go and he was already regretting the decision. He’d tried sleeping again only to find himself unable to keep his eyes shut. Now he was attempting to amuse himself with the piles of gold. A bright, white gem bounced off and tickled the dragon’s snout and his sneeze came in a shower of embers. _I should go out and catch him_ , Smaug thought to himself as the embers settled and died upon the gold, _but he’s likely long gone by now. Probably ridden off in a barrel._ He snorted. _Hmph! Barrel-rider!_

 

He recalled Bilbo’s words denying involvement of the lake-men. There was once a time when he would have smoked Esgaroth on a whim, even with such a lack of evidence, but now Smaug felt no interest in such actions and only a creeping hunger for something more, something different. He looked at the wealth around him and in his eyes it was all quite lackluster. Dragons and kings and especially dragons who are kings desire treasure by nature. With such a plunder why was he so unsatisfied? _Perhaps I am one of greater distinction and need treasure to match my standing. I am, after all, Smaug, King under the Mountain..._ He thought once more of the hobbit.

 

_"...O Smaug, you are terrible and wise, but not all treasure is silver and gold!"_

 

****

 

A thrush woke the company. The sun was up, the day had begun, and the bird was chirping incessantly.

 

"Irksome creature! Let me be!" Bilbo muttered, half asleep. The thrush kept chirping, repeating the same notes over and over again in a rather urgent manner. Bilbo heard the dwarves stirring around him.

 

Suddenly one of them cried, “Get up! Get up! The orcs are coming!”

 

That woke them right up. In a flash the company was awake with swords drawn and arrows notched. Bilbo too was gripping tightly to Sting. They looked out into the distance. From the South a mass of orcs and wargs were marching toward the mountain, bringing with them a gathering of dark clouds and cruel winds. Bilbo, Thorin, and the rest of the party did not know it, but the hosts of Sauron were on a mission to the very kingdom they were trying to reclaim. Gandalf had mentioned a sickness that lay upon Mirkwood, the shadows that dwelt in the South, and he had left them at the forest’s elven gates, but for what reasons the company was unsure. Little did they know that the Enemy had taken hold of Dol Goldur, and was gaining in power. The darkness that approached them now was but a sample of what they might taste in the future.

 

The dwarves clenched their fists and grit their teeth in preparation for the oncoming storm, but they were not the only ones who had to weather it. Through the Long Lake and along the River Running the orcs came, wrecking havoc in Lake-town. The Master was slain, and the people were in a panic. They rode on boats to the lake shores, trying to get away by foot. Bard, their bargeman, son of Girion of Dale, had rallied the men of Lake-town to fight. They’d raided the Master’s armory and armed themselves with swords, and maces, and crossbows. They fought fiercely, and blood both red and black was spilled onto the ground. But the lake-men were inexperienced with the weapons they held, and their resistance was not going to last very long.

 

Then they heard the sound of horns. Blessed Ilúvatar! It was the host of Mirkwood! The lake-men’s elven allies had come to help out of anger, fear, and solidarity. Too long had orcs haunted their home and killed their kin. Their hatred for that foul race was cold and bitter. They would not allow this attack on their trade partners to go uncontested. Elven blades sang a deadly, silver song as they slashed orc-flesh.

 

“To the Mountain,” Bard called, “To the Mountain! We may gain some leverage there!”

 

So they fought and pushed their way to its lower slopes, and from there they rained showers and showers of arrows upon their foes, taking advantage of the higher ground. But the battle had lasted for almost a day now, and they were quite ready to stop and see to their wounded and bury their dead.

 

Suddenly, they heard a war cry coming down the mountain. It was Thorin! He held Orcrist aloft, and it gleamed despite the gloom. Following closely behind him was his company of twelve. Over a crag they leapt into the fold. Orcs toppled from their wolf-steeds before them, and were felled by the company’s mighty strokes.

 

After some time it seemed as if the tides were turning. Though bodies of elves and men hit the ground cold, the numbers of orcs dwindled even more. Muscles ached from non-stop fighting, but it seemed rest would be coming soon. Then from the North came the sound of horns. It was harsh and low and even without looking the men knew that this time it was no elven army that was coming to aid them, but another horde of orcs. The dwarves cursed loudly. The clouds above them grew thicker still, and the battlefield was thrown further into darkness. Victory that was in hand was now a distant, burning hope.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, the riddle isn't mine, I got it off google.


End file.
